


Even Superheroes Get Sick

by RivRe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha gets a virus, One Shot, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivRe/pseuds/RivRe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha comes home with some sort of virus, but she's too stubborn to just admit it to Sam.</p><p>(This is shameless sickfic fluff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Superheroes Get Sick

**Author's Note:**

> For Crystal. Happy belated birthday!
> 
> If you ship Samtasha, we should be friends. If you don't yet, I wrote some pseudo-meta to fill you with feels and convince you to ship them forever and ever. (http://jamessebastianbarnes.tumblr.com/post/88677157967)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I didn't do any editing at all this time and I am so sorry.~~

Sam opened his eyes, blinking a few times in the dark room, trying to figure out what had woken him up.

Someone coughed. Oh.

Pushing the pillow he’d been hugging out of the way, Sam wiggled over to Natasha, curling an arm around her stomach. She was still sleeping, he thought, as the next cough shook her whole body. He hugged her tighter.

When Natasha let slip a little groan, Sam sighed. She’d been gone for days, off helping Fury with something or other. She must have snuck in while he was already asleep.

The clock read 4:45. Nat would be awake soon, sick or not. Doing his best not to disturb her, Sam edged off the bed and stumbled downstairs; maybe a bowl of oatmeal or something would help her.

Sixteen minutes later, coughs heralded the descent of the Black Widow. Sam filled a bowl with equal parts oatmeal and sugar and cinnamon and slid it onto the table. Natasha looked very, very, flushed as she took a seat.

“You should go back to bed.” He handed her a spoon anyway.

“I’m fine.” Sam wanted to roll his eyes at her, but decided to have pity since she had just gotten back from who-knows-where. Her cheeks were almost the color of her hair. “It’s just a bug, I’ve been stuck indoors for a while. After we run, I’ll be fine.”

Sam was tempted to argue, but he figured that this time it might be easier to just wait a little bit. When she sneezed, a cute, high-pitched squeak, Sam knew that she would prove his point soon enough. Still, he only gave her half a cup of coffee, and when she asked for more, he poured her cocoa instead. She didn’t complain much.

When she got up to go run through her exercise-regime-from-Hell, Sam resisted.

“Shouldn’t you, you know, preserve some of your energy to try to get better?”

“I told you, once we get outside I’ll be fine.”

“Fine, then let’s go run now. You can do whatever it is you do after you get better, or whatever.”

She gave him a look, that leave-me-alone-peasant look that he probably shouldn’t like as much as he did.

Sam didn’t say anything when she abridged her exercises, coming into the living room at six, ready to leave. He’d had his back to the door, watching the news, and he almost jumped out of his skin when she spoke from right above him, moving silent as a cat, like always.

“Ready to go?” She leaned on the back of the couch, ponytail flopping down when she bent her head over him.

Sam clicked off the TV and stood, stretching. “Always.” He leaned in to give her a quick peck, but she coughed again, interrupting him. He frowned at her, making her laugh.

“Come on, lazy boy.” Nat grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him out the front door.

 

 

The rattling in her chest hadn’t gone away after the run.

“What are your plans for today?”

“The man told me to take the day off, file my report.” Natasha grabbed a towel and headed towards the shower, tossing her ponytail holder on the dresser. “Why? You have anything fun planned?”

“Just a boring day at the office, you know me.” He had to shout to be heard over the water. “You want to make dinner?”

She didn’t respond, and he went to go shower in the guest room instead. She was sitting on the bed, ironing her hair, when he came back out a few minutes later. “Anything in particular you in the mood of?”

“Hm?” He tugged on a tshirt and watched her iron in the mirror. She’d picked the thing up at some point, he had no idea when, but it had appeared one day on a shelf in the bathroom.

“Dinner.”

“Mm. Maybe fettuccini?”

“As long as you’re fine with me possibly burning the house down, I can try it.”

“What’s the matter?” he teased. “Never been undercover as a French maid?”

She threw a comb at him, hitting him between his shoulder blades. “Oh you really wish, don’t you?”

Sam pulled on his jeans and sat cross-legged on the bed behind Natasha, taking the iron from her. He had a younger sister, after all. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’ll need to go out to get the parmesan, though.” Another cough rattled her chest, and he carefully angled the iron away to avoid burning her. “Actually, how about I just go buy the stuff now, before work? You go back to sleep, we’ll make it later.”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re fine, I know.” He blinked at the steam rising into his eyes from the iron and wiped his arm across his eyes. “But I’m sure you’re tired from your trip, so rest up a bit anyway. Besides, even superheroes get sick sometimes.” He reached past her and pulled her StarkPad off the night table, tickling her side before handing it to her. She swatted his fingers, and he went back to ironing. “Look up what ingredients I need to buy, okay?”

“Okay, so first we need broccoli.”

 

 

The stench hit Sam like a ton of bricks. “Natasha?” He slammed the door behind him, heart racing, and ran into the kitchen—the source of the smell. He almost gagged. Sam rushed over to the stove and found an empty pot sitting on top of the fire. He quickly shut it off and turned to see Natasha, head in her hands, asleep at the table. “Natasha,” he said again.

She lifted her head and blinked blearily at him. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Nat.” He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, sitting down and putting the drink in front of her. He pulled up his chair close enough that their knees bumped. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“I…” She licked her lips, and her eyes focused on him, but only just. “I started boiling the water after you left, and then I felt a little dizzy, so I went to sit down, and…why didn’t you go to work?”

“It’s four o clock,” he said slowly. “I finished early, but I’ve been out all day.” She drew her eyebrows together in confusion, staring at him.

“But…I only just put the water on a few minutes ago.”

“Okay. That’s it. Bedtime.” Sam didn’t wait for her protests, just yanked her chair away from the table and picked her up, flipping her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If she was in her right mind, she’d have him flat on the floor by now, he knew, but she just flailed a little bit and let out a pitiful moan. “You’re going to sleep, and I’m making chicken soup.” He dumped her on the bed, slightly less gently than he probably should have, all things considered. She made to sit up again, but he shoved her against a pillow and tossed the blanket over her face. “Stay.” She made another noise of disapproval.

“Sam…” It came out half-moan and half-angry.

He doubled back, pulled the blanket off her face, and leaned down. “Stay.” He dropped a kiss on her temple, glad that she didn’t cough until after, and headed downstairs to make soup. He needed to do something with the broccoli anyway. Maybe he would toss some of the parmesan in there too, see what happened.

 

 

When he came upstairs, juggling two bowls of soup and his laptop, V for Vendetta already rented and downloaded on it, Natasha blinked up at him, half asleep.

“Fettuccini?”

“Nope.” He put the bowls down on the dresser and fluffed some pillows to help her sit up, and they curled up on the bed. Sam hit Play.

“You know, she looks kind of like Jane.”

“Who?”

“You know, Jane. Thor’s girlfriend. Actually, no. My mistake. Just from the side a little bit.”

“Eat your soup, Nat.” She took an obedient sip, and grinned at him. “Good?”

“Good.”

Sam nodded, and buried his nose in her hair. It still stunk, but underneath the smell was her own, that mix of Sam’s shampoo and the sweet smell that was distinctly _Natasha_. Her chest still rattled a little when she breathed, but when he tucked his chin against her neck, she leaned back against him, shoulders relaxing and molding to his chest as she slurped her soup, obnoxiously noisy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love feedback, if you'd care to leave some!  
> (Alternatively: the address for anon hate is jamessebastianbarnes.tumblr.com at your leisure!)


End file.
